


The Horn

by fleete



Series: Pornathon 2013 [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Intoxication, M/M, Object Insertion, Sex Bet, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleete/pseuds/fleete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what men do, in Gwaine’s experience.  They challenge each other to obscene and physically improbable tasks, and then promptly forget about them.  There's not supposed to be follow-through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Horn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Light & Dark challenge. I took a trope that's normally pretty light-hearted (the drunken sex-related bet) and made it a little darker than usual.
> 
>  **content notes** : dub-con (due to the betting situation), foreign object insertion, voyeurism, public sex, intoxication
> 
>  **a/n** : [This is a saddle horn](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-swy_F0NWhvI/TspujCPh6NI/AAAAAAAAB3w/U2vZffrA1YE/s400/ML+Leddy+Saddle+Horn.jpg). It is very much anachronistic for a medieval British knight to have one of these, but I have a very good reason for using it anyway, and that reason is PORN.

Gwaine has a sneaking suspicion that he is most sober person present. It’s a rather alarming possibility. 

Because yes, he may have started singing the bawdy songs earlier in the night, and yes, he may have instigated the series of dirty bets, but he was _bluffing_. That’s what men do, in Gwaine’s experience. They challenge each other to obscene and physically improbable tasks, and then promptly forget about them.

No one is ever going to forget this.

“Arthur,” Gwaine tries. “Are you really going to let him do this?”

Arthur doesn’t even look at Gwaine; his mouth is open, his color high, his eyes fixed on Merlin. “A challenge has been made, Sir Gwaine.”

Merlin’s kneeling in the dirt near the fire, naked from the waist down. Gwaine can just glimpse his fingers working the oil between his legs.

“Come on, Merlin!” Percival calls out. “Enough. Do it.”

Merlin sighs, but shuffles backward and kneels up to situate himself over the horn of the saddle Gwaine had tossed onto the ground. It had been a _joke_ , for Christ’s sake. A stupid, over-the-top, lascivious—

“Oh God,” Leon says out loud when Merlin brings himself down. He pauses at the top of the horn, his hips swivelling and shoulders squaring, but then he bears down.

Percival whoops, and Elyan starts a slow clap.

Gwaine cannot take his eyes off of Merlin’s face. His mouth initially screws up against the pain or the intensity, but as he moves down ever so slowly, his lips gape and stretch apart as if some invisible gag were inserted there. He’s clearly trying to avoid any embarrassing noises, but his breath heaves louder and louder until his panting becomes the predominant sound—louder even than the fire crackling or the rustle of wind through the trees. 

There’s no more boisterous encouragement from the knights after that. The mood shifts abruptly into something else. Percy and Elyan are silent and stone-faced, shifting minutely in their sprawl against one another. Leon’s got his eyes averted but a death grip on the handle of the ale jug. Even Arthur—normally so eager to see Merlin made ridiculous—is developing a twitchy moue, his smirk slipped away.

There’s comes a small, quick sound—a bitten off keen—and Merlin drops his arse that last inch to rest against the pommel. Gwaine can’t see anything, really, where Merlin’s legs cast dark shadows, but he can imagine it. The fire blurs for an instant as the dark pink hue of an arsehole flashes in Gwaine’s mind’s eye: the way it must’ve swallowed the fat head of the horn.

“Well—” and Arthur’s voice cracks on the word. He clears his throat. “Well. I declare Merlin the winner of the challenge.”

“Well done,” Elyan says lowly, and Percy and Leon join him in stilted congratulations. They are all too, too drunk for this.

“Pay the forfeit, Gwaine,” Percival slurs.

Gwaine blinks several times, parsing that. “I don’t remember what it was.”

“I do.” Merlin’s voice is dangerous, and half an octave lower than normal. It makes Gwaine shiver. “Get down here and suck my cock.”

Gwaine’s taken three steps forward before his brain catches up with him. “But. Don’t you want to…”

Arthur says it for him. “You can get off that thing now, Merlin.” He’s trying for a tone of imperious command and not quite reaching it.

Merlin narrows his eyes but doesn’t argue. He lifts his arse a bare inch before making a shocked little noise and dropping down again. “I can’t. I can’t. Just—”

“What, are you stuck?” Arthur asks, horror creeping into his expression.

“ _Gwaine_ ,” Merlin snaps, and Gwaine never followed an order so fast in his life, he’s on his knees so quick. “Suck me,” Merlin says, his fingers already pulling Gwaine’s hair. “I can get off it, I just need some distraction. Suck me.”

Gwaine sucks him. He buries his face in Merlin’s lap, and doesn’t look up when there begin to come slick, smacking noises about him. Noises like wanking, or maybe kissing. But he doesn’t look, just licks and suckles until Merlin’s hard and shaking.

Merlin kneels up off the horn just as he’s coming in Gwaine’s mouth, and the _sound_ he makes when he does—. Gwaine will remember that. He doesn’t care how drunk and dizzy he is, he will remember that sound forever.

Everyone pretends to forget about it the day after. No one does.


End file.
